


Honey, On Your Knees When You Look At Me

by ipleadthefifth2



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: But it’s mostly about the feelings, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), F/F, Mild Sexual Content, Starts as smut but turns into feelings, beauyasha - Freeform, critical role - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipleadthefifth2/pseuds/ipleadthefifth2
Summary: The rising tension between Beauregard and Yasha reaches a fever pitch... (written to Holy by King Princess)
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 9
Kudos: 205





	Honey, On Your Knees When You Look At Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I’m new here. I did a thing. Hope you enjoy. (Newly) On Twitter @letsgoregard
> 
> No betas. All mistakes and typos are my own.
> 
> I guess let me know if you want more things like this.

Beau’s never been quite so aroused from the threat of being manhandled before. She’s usually the aggressor; she’s always been the take charge type in situations like this. But there’s something about being between Yasha and a wall in a dark hallway at the back of a tavern that makes Beau want to let herself be thrown around. Something about Yasha’s palm flat against the wall beside her head, something about Yasha looking down at Beau from six inches up, something about feeling Yasha’s body heat radiate in the scant space between them that makes Beau’s mouth—and other parts of her anatomy, for that matter—fucking water. 

She stares up at her now, wide-eyed, and neither of them have to say a single word for Beau to know exactly what that look in her eye means. Yasha has been watching her all night. She only knows because she’s been watching Yasha all night, stealing glances at her out of the corner of her eye like she’s afraid to get caught. Yasha has been much less coy in her attentions, staring openly at Beau across the table, holding her gaze for just a moment longer than necessary whenever their eyes find each other’s. 

Beau doesn’t need physical contact to feel the electricity between them. It’s been building between them for weeks, this tension, since Rumblecusp, since before that even, if she’s being honest with herself. And she is, now; Beau’s long since stopped lying to herself about the depth of her feelings for Yasha. It was only a matter of time before her self control ran out. The heat in Yasha’s gaze now threatens to set the last threads of it aflame. “Yasha...”

Yasha cocks her head to the side, letting her eyes drift languidly across Beau’s face, down the length of her neck, and Beau nearly feels like cornered prey in the presence of a predator, like Yasha is toying with her only to delay the inevitable devouring. 

Oh, but Beau wants to be devoured. Her eyes slide over to the corner, to the back staircase that leads up to the inn rooms on the second floor. She wonders how long it would take people to miss them, then decides she doesn’t care. Decisively, she grabs Yasha’s hand and drags her toward them. They stumble up the stairs and Beau has barely found an unlocked door to an unoccupied room before Yasha is on her. 

It’s a heady blur. Somewhere between lips and teeth and tongues and hands their clothes come off, and Beau can’t be certain of exactly how that happens, but she doesn’t have much time to consider before she’s naked and lifted off the ground and her legs are around Yasha’s hips. For a moment she’s certain she’ll fall, but Yasha’s hands supporting the backs of her thighs are strong. 

Beau’s a bit lightheaded and heaving for breath by the time her back hits the bed. Somehow, she has the wherewithal to press a hand to the center of Yasha’s chest before she follows her hungrily down. “Yasha,” she gasps, and Yasha’s eyes snap to hers, suddenly clear of the haze they’ve carried for the past few hours. Almost concerned. Beau takes a breath, another. She looks into the duality of Yasha’s gaze for any hint of hesitation. She finds none. Still she asks. “Are you sure?”

Yasha looks back at her, and Beau feels the conviction deep in her own chest when Yasha says, “Yes.”

The desperate flash of heat is gone from Yasha’s touch when she kisses her again, replaced with the slow burn of long-simmering desire as she settles her weight carefully into the dips and swells of Beau’s body beneath her. Beau’s never particularly enjoyed the sensation of being weighed down by another person’s body. She finds it confining, uncomfortable. But Yasha’s weight on her feels grounding instead of suffocating. The pressure of her curves makes Beau feel good in a way that is beyond sexual. Beau wraps her arms around Yasha’s broad shoulders and matches the pace of her lips with her own. 

They kiss slowly and deeply for long minutes and Beau would honestly be content to do only this for the rest of her life. She’s never felt so much from just kissing someone in her entire life. Yasha’s muscles twitch beneath her hands with every shift of Yasha’s weight atop her, and Beau chases the fleeting movements of Yasha’s back with her fingertips. Beau’s chest feels like it’s about to burst open from the pressure of the building emotion and it’s entirely overwhelming. 

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until Yasha pulls back far enough to look at her. One of her hands comes up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind Beau’s ear. She wears her concern in a light frown on her face. “Beau? Are you okay?”

Beau swipes a hand across her face. “Yeah,” she sniffles. “Yeah, fuck, I’m sorry.”

Yasha shifts again, supporting herself over Beau on one elbow, the thumb of her free hand brushing across Beau’s cheekbone to catch a wayward tear. “Shh. Don’t apologize.”

For a woman of such formidable physicality, Yasha’s softness comes as a constant surprise. Beau covers the hand against her cheek with her own. “Yasha, I...”

Yasha watches her patiently. She doesn’t push; she doesn’t prod. She only waits in the silence for Beau to continue, or not. Yasha doesn’t expect anything of her, and after a lifetime of failing to live up to people’s expectations of her, it’s freeing to be with someone who simply wants her to be her, flaws and all. Beau squeezes her eyes shut, but more tears come anyway. 

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispers into the dark of the room a while later. Yasha is still mostly on top of her, but has leaned down to rest her head on Beau’s chest like a pillow. Beau has been absentmindedly running her fingers through the strands of Yasha’s hair. This is a first for her. She doesn’t cuddle, especially without fucking someone first. But with Yasha, it feels good. Better than anything Beau’s felt in a long time. 

Yasha barely shifts against Beau’s chest. She wonders how close she’d been to falling asleep. “Like what?” 

Beau furrows her brow up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like...there’s this pressure in my chest. And it keeps building and building and it makes me want to laugh and cry and dance all at the same time.”

Finally, Yasha lifts her head, the hint of a smile on her face, and kisses Beau long and deep on the lips, and that feeling is back in Beau’s chest, big and scary and as freeing as flying. Yasha rests her forehead against Beau’s when they part minutes later. “I love you, too, Beauregard Lionett.”


End file.
